The Sword of Martin: Book 2
by pwmarlfox
Summary: The youth of Redwall have begun their journey to recover the Sword of Martin the Mossflower Forest Patrol is beginning to organize in its early days.


_**Chapter 19**_

"My footpaws're sore! Can't we stop fer a rest now? We're well away from th' Abbey by now. Leslie! Leslie! Slow down! Leslie, can we rest now? Lingen, could you—"

Stikle received a sharp knock in the side of the head. Lingen stood ten feet ahead, another dirt clod ready in his paw. "Hush your gab!" he said. "All o' Mossflower can 'ear you jabberin' on about yore footpaws."

"S'rry," the young hedgehog mumbled, "just thought we could all use a rest, seein' as 'ow it's midafternoon and there ain't no sight o' th' Abbey."

Lingen nodded. "I agree. Leslie! Grubo! Let's rest our paws awhile. Maybe we can take a look at that poem, too."

The group of travelers spread out the parchment on the floor of Mossflower Wood. Leslie read aloud:

"Tread your own shadows-  
Let your backs be warm."

"Well, that part is clear," interjected Lingen. "To tread our shadows, we'd have to go west. Then the sun would be to our backs."

"Yes," said Leslie, "but what about in the afternoon, when the sun is past its zenith? Then our shadows would be to the _east_."

All four beasts sat there for a moment, puzzled by this new problem. "Why don't we just read through th' rest of it an' see wot makes sense?" Stikle suggested after a pause. Leslie nodded and continued.

"Steer clear the quarries  
To be safe from harm.  
South you must go-  
Avoid the grasses tall  
Till you reach the river wide."

"Wot quarries be'm they?" Grubo, who had remained silent before, asked the question that they were all thinking.

"I guess we'll know them when we see them," Leslie shrugged.

"Which I hope we never do," Lingen added.

"Well," Leslie sighed, "at least we know we're eventually heading south. To a river." She continued.

"Mark well the heron's call;  
Follow the waters out;  
Be on your guard, friend,  
There will be many beasts  
To face before its end."

She looked up. "There sure are a lot of warnings. Let's hope they make sense to us by the time we need them." The others nodded.

"At the sea's waters, due north  
Is the mountain of fire-  
Receive what aid you will  
But stay not long, nor tire."

Lingen repeated the words slowly. "The mountain of fire… The mountain of fire… At the sea's waters, due north…"

Grubo scratched his head with a small digging claw. "Ee mountain o' foire? Wot be'm that?"

"Salamandastron!" Leslie shouted abruptly. The other members of the party clapped paws over their ears in surprise.

"Hurr, doan't ee be shoutin' so loud, mizz Lenslee!"

"Wot're we yellin' for, Leslie, an' wot in th' woods is Salermannon?"

"Sorry," said Leslie with a nervous laugh. "I just remembered something I read about in Brother Lucas' books. They talked about it a lot. It was sometimes referred to as the 'mountain of fire', but its real name was Salamandastron. It's on the western coast, and a great Badger Lord and a legion of hares live inside."

Stikle didn't understand half of what Leslie had just said, but there was one thing he had heard correctly. "West it is, then!"

Leslie sighed and read the last lines of the poem.

"South is where you must go  
The great fortress of the sea-  
Trust not the foxlord red  
And return victoriously."

"Well," Lingen said after a pause, "at least we know that whenever we get to this mountain of fire, we go south. I don't know what this 'great fortress of the sea' is, or the 'foxlord red', but I suppose we'll find out soon enough."

"And wish we hadn't," Leslie added.

Stikle coughed. "West it is, then?" he repeated.

"Oh, uh—" Leslie blinked. "Yes, west it is. Let's get going and we can set camp before dark."

Lingen stood and looked around. "Where's Grubo?"

"Hurr!" the small mole called, already several paces ahead, plowing westward. "Ee beasts better 'urry oop, ee sword bain't gonna wait furr us t'foind et!"

It was night. The sun had long retired itself from the hot day, and Rosno had not yet returned. Captain Bloik threw a flat rock into the River Moss and watched it skip. Where was his lookout? Where was the sword? Had he been played false?

After a long while of deliberation, the ferret corsair returned to camp. He found Skarliff Krigg lounging in the middle of the horde encampment, enjoying the calm of the late evening. He even held in one paw an antique pipe that appeared to be from the Northern Wildcat Kings era, and was blowing out a ring of smoke. He looked up and acknowledged the captain. "Good evening, brother," he said with almost too much nonchalance, "come, sit with me. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Aye, brother, there is," Bloik said. "Yew c'n tell me why my lookout ain't back yet, an' where th' sword is."

"Careful, brother," Krigg answered coolly, almost taken aback. "I would think your lookout can take care of himself. As far as the sword, it's anybeast's guess where that is, but if anybeast knows, it would probably be your mate Rosno. Don't be so quick to accuse your own flesh and blood."

Bloik pawed his cutlass, his temper boiling with each word the warlord spoke. "Don't yew dare try t'say my crew ain't loyal t'me. They'd follow me to Dark Gates an' back. Rosno'd be back now, an' 'e should be. Wot'd ye do? 'Ave me crewbeasts murdered?"

Skarliff remained calm, still lounging comfortably and breathing out delicate smoke rings. "I don't know what you're talking about, brother. I would never play you false. If you're having second thoughts about this Abbey, I won't stop you from returning to your ship and going home. But I would advise you to never again accuse me of foul play."

"Stinkin' lyin' weasel!" Bloik shouted. "Where is it! Gimme my sword, y'tripegutted sniveller!" He drew his sword and lunged at the warlord. Skarliff remained perfectly calm until Bloik was two sword lengths away, then in a flash he rose, his previously hidden sword appeared in his paws, and he ran the surprised corsair captain through. Even as his brother fell the warlord turned, wiping off his sword, and called to his head captain.

"Durg! Post extra sentries on my quarters, and put the corsairs under guard. I am going to rest now. Make the preparations: the horde moves at dawn."


End file.
